Riddle Me This (The Lost Diadem)
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: When the remnants of Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem are kept on display, the Grey Lady decides to steal her mother's diadem yet again, but this time she leaves behind a series of riddles for anyone worthy enough to solve. Years later, Molly Weasley II stumbles upon these riddles and takes it upon herself to solve them. Written for Round 2 of QLFC. *Chosen as the Judge's Pick for Round2*


**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to their respective owners. Everything else belongs to me.**

**Edit 29/4/'15: This story was chosen as the Judge's Pick in the round it was submitted for!**

* * *

**Riddle Me This**

**(The Lost Diadem)**

* * *

She watched as the crowd of witches and wizards dispersed from the memorial, some walking right through her, calling careless apologies over their shoulders. Shooting another scathing glare towards anyone who so much as passed by her, she glided through the ornate archway that led into the main hall of the museum.

Pausing, she let her eyes wander till they fell upon what she was looking for: the disfigured remains of her mother's greatest treasure, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. She approached it slowly, carefully, as though she still had a mortal form. Stopping just before the cordoned-off area, she stood staring at the once magnificent crown—its breath-taking beauty rivalled by none other than its owner, now reduced to a charred piece of rubble.

She sighed as she inclined her head, eyeing the powerful enchantments surrounding what had once been a container for a fragment of the Dark Lord's tainted soul. The spells shimmered even with the slightest disturbance, and she wondered if there was any way of getting past them.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?"

She glanced sideways at the man who had come to stand beside her, a wry smile on his face.

"Mr Potter," she said politely, hovering closer to the ground so he didn't have to look up at her.

"Harry. Just Harry," came his instant reply, a sparkle in his eye.

She bowed her head infinitesimally and turned back towards the display.

"Ironic, don't you think? That one of the darkest wizards of all time split his soul in order to live forever, but that was the very cause for his downfall?" he said softly, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

"Life itself is ironic," she replied evenly, her mind already whirring with the possibility that she may be able to get past the barriers placed around the diadem.

"That's true."

She glanced towards him, taken aback by his intense, knowing gaze.

"If I may ask," he began, taking a step forwards and positioning himself in between her and the display, "did you come here today simply to celebrate the opening of the museum?"

She watched him carefully, deliberating how much he may have already guessed. Finally deciding that she may as well take advantage of his knowledge, she smiled genially and said, "I suppose you wouldn't believe me even if I were to say yes?"

He tilted his head and gave her a long, searching look before turning towards the display.

"Are you here to steal your mother's diadem again?"

She eyed the charred headpiece and nodded when he looked back at her.

"It deserves to be on a pedestal, no doubt, but… not here… not like this."

She gestured towards the throng of people milling in and around the war memorial that had now been converted into a historical museum. He nodded slowly and glanced around, as though making sure no one was looking their way.

"I'm assuming you've thought this through?" he asked, positioning himself in a way that blocked the diadem from view.

"I can pass through the barrier without a problem, but it is the retrieval of the diadem that I am concerned about. My corporeal hands cannot grasp solid objects and the diadem most definitely cannot pass through the enchantments."

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "I suppose I could lower the enchanted barrier around the pedestal for an instant and Summon the diadem before the wards collapse around it."

"We will need a replacement for it," she said quickly as she spotted a group of Aurors exiting the hall.

"For the time being, a simple illusion should suffice. No one can touch it anyway, so I don't think they'll be able to tell."

"Can you take down the enchantments, retrieve the artefact, _and_ create a satisfactory illusion before the wards are triggered?" she asked, finding the very idea far more difficult than she had originally planned it to be.

He grinned and shrugged rather nonchalantly. "Well, we won't know unless we try."

She bristled at that but watched as he extracted his wand from the sleeve of his coat and pointed it at the display. He muttered spells under his breath and performed quick, complex wand movements and in an instant, the diadem was in his free hand and a replica—that looked no different from the original—appeared in its place.

He slid the jewel under his coat and with a nod towards her, strode out of the museum. She stared at the illusory diadem on the pedestal for a moment longer before floating after him.

* * *

"Sixty-two… sixty-three… sixty-four... This should be it."

She looked up from the hand-drawn map she held, eyeing the spacious, dimly lit hallway. Looking at the map again, she recalculated the exact number of steps she had taken from the Ravenclaw Common Room to her current position, making sure to include the consistency of her strides and the distance she had covered in her calculations.

"Hm, I'm pretty sure I got it right," she mused aloud, looking around the empty corridor.

She dug into her pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, reading the lines of the riddle written on it.

_Twin towers flank a host of fourteen  
with all the court in between.  
Born of chariots, their reach is far.  
To friend, to foe, to all there are._

_Beside them the mounted dogs of war trod,_  
_followed by those that speak the words of god._  
_All bow to the crown and guard his grace,_  
_moving when threatened to take his place._

_To a bloodless war lowly footmen are chanced,_  
_but deadliest of all is his lady's advance._  
_Dark ranks match them, man for man,_  
_a pale knight leads, the charge began._

Sighing, she pocketed the riddle and wondered if she had gone wrong somewhere.

"The chessboard held the answer, and of all the games I won, this one seemed most likely to be the right one. I'm sure I turned all the right corners and took all the right corridors… so why am I standing in an empty hallway?"

Grinding her teeth in frustration, she began to redraw the map, taking into consideration possible alternatives for the route she took.

"Who goes there?"

She looked up, eyes scanning the shadows as the eerie voice echoed through the empty hallway.

"I am a Ravenclaw and I seek answers," she said in a voice that was loud and clear, barely betraying her wavering confidence.

There was no reply from the other end and she was just about to return to her map when a soft sound caught her attention. She looked to the side and watched as a ghostly form glided through the brackets hung on the wall. Inhaling sharply, she folded the map and stuffed it into her pocket.

"Why, Lady Helena, what a pleasant surprise," she said in a squeaky voice, causing the Ravenclaw ghost to raise a pale eyebrow.

"I know you…" the Grey Lady murmured, hovering to a stop several feet away.

"I'm Molly Weasley, Lady Helena, I used to listen to you read in the farthest room of the West Tower," she said, curtseying.

The Grey Lady's expression seemed to mellow at that and she glided closer, a small smile gracing her elegant features.

"Yes… little Molly, I remember you. I frightened you quite a bit when I caught you spying on me."

"I—I wasn't spying, my lady! I was only—"

"I jest, young Weasley," came the reply, and she turned beet red.

"Right. Well, Lady Helena, if you would excuse me…"

She curtsied again and began to walk away when the Grey Lady called after her.

"You seem to have dropped something, little one."

Spinning around, she watched as the Grey Lady stretched out her arms, her eyebrows drawing together in concentration. The air in the dank hallway shimmered around her ghostly form, and after a moment, the folded map slowly began to rise up towards her.

"Er, thank you," she said, nervous that she may have been found out.

The Grey Lady seemed exhausted, but offered her a small smile, nonetheless. "It makes for good practice, although it really is exhausting."

"I see… well, I shall take my leave, then."

She began to walk away when Helena stopped her once again. Heart thudding in her chest, she slowly turned around, a tight smile on her face.

"Yes?"

"Your Prefect—Jones, I think he's called, yes?—just informed me that the knocker has been given a new set of riddles."

She paused, nodding slowly, still waiting for any sign of an outburst. "OK…"

But the Grey Lady only looked at her curiously before saying, "What in the world are you doing here all alone? Not to mention, during supper."

"I was… looking into something. I really have to go, Lady Helena, good night!"

She ran all the way to the Ravenclaw Common Room, her heart racing at the thought of her near escape. It was only much later that she began to wonder why the Grey Lady had been in such an obscure location and then, of all times, when she usually was in the Great Hall.

'_One mystery a day, Molly, and this one's already taking up all your free time.'_

* * *

She watched the Weasley child run out of the common room, her eyes shining with a look she knew all too well. Following after the girl, she stayed as far back as possible, lest the cold she brought with her ghostly form alert the girl of her presence.

The child turned several corners, constantly muttering under her breath, and after running up and down several staircases, she stopped in one of the farthest corridors—one that was rarely ever used because of its obscure location.

She watched as the girl began talking to herself, pulling out a folded piece of parchment and scribbling something on it. Then the redhead started muttering calculations under her breath and pulled out a second piece of parchment, reading aloud a very familiar riddle.

'_So someone has found it after all, the map that leads to the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.'_

Unsure of whether she could trust this fifteen-year-old girl with a treasure as great as the one she had hidden, she moved through the walls and down the hallway. If Molly Weasley really was the worthy Ravenclaw she believed her to be, then she would have to prove herself first.

"Who goes there?" she called, her voice eerie and haunting.

There was a pause before she heard the girl's muffled voice, clear and honest even through the thick walls.

"I am a Ravenclaw and I seek answers."

'_Yes. She is the one.'_

* * *

She was there, once again, at the same place, in the same corridor, but this time, she was confident that she was right.

"Follow your loyal knights in armour, turn every left same as the towers, and when the lady meets her end, the sixty-fourth step shall be where you stand."

Looking down at the cobblestoned ground, she nodded. Yes, this was most definitely the spot the riddle had directed her to. Now if only she knew what to do next…

She looked around the empty hallway, eyeing the bare walls and ceiling. There was nothing that adorned the long corridor—

"Except the brackets…"

Wide-eyed and heart beating fast, her eyes travelled the length of the wall, landing on the rusty lamp bracket mounted on the wall right opposite where she stood.

"Found you," she whispered excitedly, stepping towards the iron fixture and running her hands along the edges.

She had gone over the whole frame several times before she felt it—a miniscule bump just below where the lamp's face was. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she extracted the tiny roll of parchment and unfurled it.

Nervousness and excitement pulsing through her, she quickly scanned the lengthy riddle scrawled onto the page in neat, flowery handwriting.

_'Twas whispered in Heaven, 'twas muttered in Hell,_

_An echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;_

_On the confines of Earth, 'twas permitted to rest,_

_And in the depths of the ocean its presence confessed._

_'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder,_

_Be seen in the lightning and heard in the thunder;_

_'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,_

_Attends him at birth and awaits him at death._

_Presides o'er his happiness, honour and health,_

_Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth._

_In the heaps of the miser, 'tis hoarded with care,_

_But is sure to be lost on his prodigal heir._

_It begins every hope, every wish it must bound;_

_With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crowned;_

_Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,_

_But woe to the wretch who expels it from home!_

_In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,_

_Nor e'er in the whirlwind of passion be drowned;_

_'Twill soften the heart; but though deaf be the ear,_

_It will make him acutely and instantly hear._

_Set in shade, let it rest like a delicate flower;_

_Ah! Breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour._

She reread the poem several times, her mind skimming through every piece of information she had, deciphering the logic and hidden meaning within the riddle. It was right at the tip of her tongue, she could feel it, but the longer she spent reading the poem, the harder it was to believe that she was right.

"What am I missing?" she muttered, pacing up and down as she memorised the several-lines-long poem. "What are you trying to tell me?"

She felt a sudden shiver pass down her spine and whipped around, her dark eyes scanning the empty hallway.

_'What do you want me to do, Helena?'_

And then it clicked. She stared at the rolled up piece of parchment and then rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, where her hair was standing on end.

"No way… but could it be?"

She didn't need any more coaxing as she took off in the direction she had felt the chill, anticipation filling her up till she thought she would explode.

* * *

She hovered over the highest ledge, listening to the ever-present laughter and chatter of the Great Hall. Humming quietly to herself, she watched as students slowly began to filter out of the hall, well fed and satisfied.

Gliding towards her House table, she smiled and nodded to everyone that greeted her. Skimming over the length of the table, she finally reached the end and locked gazes with a certain red-haired girl, the Head Girl badge shimmering on her neatly pressed robes.

"Good day, Lady Helena."

"Good day to you too, my dear."

As she floated away, she heard someone mention that that was the first time she had greeted anyone so kindly, and she couldn't help but smile. The girl deserved every bit of kindness she had left within her.

She remembered that night as though it was yesterday—when Molly Weasley had come bursting into the farthest room of the West Tower, gasping for breath but looking as though she had single-handedly won the House Cup.

The girl had started babbling excitedly about a riddle and how it had made no sense but had made perfect sense and she had asked the child to calm down and take a seat. Molly had then gone on to explain how she had found some discrepancies in the diadem exhibited in the museum and how, when she had finally managed to get past the enchantments, she had found a small roll of parchment containing a riddle. She had then come to find that it was the first of several riddles that led to the location of the real diadem and pursued the case of the lost artefact.

The girl had then found the right chessboard, won multiple games and found the correct one that led her to the abandoned corridor. She had then found the last piece of the puzzle in the lamp bracket fixed to the wall, and after long minutes of cracking her head, had realised that she had arrived upon the right answer.

"I solved it, Lady Helena!" she had cried jubilantly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.

"Well, let's hear it then—"

"The answer is the letter H. At first I didn't understand what it meant, because there are so many things that the letter H could stand for. I assumed it meant Horcrux, and wracked my head about it for a long time, but then I realised—no, I _remembered_ something from years ago—from when you showed me the book you used to read from.

"H stands for Helena, doesn't it?" she had asked excitedly. "I remember that on the very first page of the book were words written. '_The property of H'_, was what they were, I'm sure of it now. _You're_ the answer to all the riddles! _You're_ where the map leads to!"

She had laughed at the girl's enthusiasm and said that yes, she was indeed H and that that riddle was one her mother had written, centuries ago, for her.

Molly had looked confused and she had said, "Such a treasure is worth far more than a few petty riddles. Let Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem remain as it should be—a lost treasure."

But the girl hadn't seemed very convinced and it was only when she had offered to read an excerpt from her mother's diary, that Molly seemed finally placated.

And now, over a year later, she couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of what an odd relationship it was—a friendship between a ghost and a girl.

* * *

**A/n: Written for Round 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. As Keeper of the Falmouth Falcons, my topic was "a cross-generational friendship".**

**Word count: 2,955**

**Molly II being a Ravenclaw is a major Headcanon of mine and I just couldn't help but write this piece. Opinions and thoughts in the form of reviews will be of greater value than Rowena Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem.**


End file.
